


Jump Into That Water

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Untouched, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: You are not your biology.Tyler’s mother had told him that so many times growing up. When he told her he wanted to play hockey but was afraid to go up against so many alphas.You are not your biology.When an alpha triggered his heat during a scrum and Tyler had to be carried off the ice, fever already burning up his bones.You are not your biology.Tyler wishes he could believe her.





	Jump Into That Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first and probably only foray into A/B/O dynamics, because of an anon (or three) on Tumblr and my friends, who are all filthy enablers. 
> 
> Real people, even more of a work of fiction than usual, no disrespect intended. The Bruins don't treat Tyler well in this fic, but I didn't name names. They are vilified for plot purposes only, and it is not a reflection upon their real life characters. Also there are references to past abuse but no details are given.

_ You are not your biology. _

Tyler’s mother had told him that so many times growing up. When he told her he wanted to play hockey but was afraid to go up against so many alphas.

_ You are not your biology. _

When an alpha triggered his heat during a scrum and Tyler had to be carried off the ice, fever already burning up his bones.

_ You are not your biology. _

When he’s signed to Boston, the first omega ever to play for the Bruins.

Tyler wishes he could believe her, he does. His mother’s the smartest person he knows. If she says he can make a life for himself doing what he loves, then surely she’s right.

It’s harder to remember after his first heat in Boston. 

He doesn’t call her, too ashamed and exhausted to move.

He makes an appointment with an omega specialist, although he can’t look her in the eyes when he meets her.

The first suppressants she gives him don’t work, and the team has to get him through the next heat.

After, aching in every muscle, Tyler thinks about quitting hockey for the first time.

The second round of suppressants are more effective. They mute his heat, although it still happens. But it’s easier to get through, the worst of the need blunted. They make Tyler feel like he’s surrounded by cotton wool, but it’s better than the wildfire that devoured him before.

The third round is the charm. Tyler’s heat doesn’t come, and doesn’t come, until he’s breathless with hope that maybe he’s finally free.

Giddy with it, he drinks too much, parties too much, sleeps with too many alphas. They win the Cup, but he’s still not surprised when he gets the news that he’s been traded.

Dallas is oppressively, breathtakingly sweltering. Tyler puts on a smile when Jamie meets him at the airport and tells him he’s happy to be there.

He  _ is, _ he thinks as he settles in, gets to know the team. The suppressants are still working. His heat hasn’t hit him since Boston. He can do this, play his hockey, help the team. 

_ You are more than your biology. _

 

The first sign Tyler has that the heat suppressants have failed is six months later, when Jamie walks by and his scent hits Tyler’s nose. He smells like pine needles and aftershave and clean sweat, sweet and woodsy, and a rush of prickling warmth rolls through Tyler’s body, making his skin feel hot and too tight. He’s in the locker room, stripping down after practice, and he freezes in place, horrified.

_ No, no, no. _ The doctor in Boston had assured him that these suppressants were the strongest on the market, that  _ nothing _ could break through them and trigger his heat, and for almost a year, she’d been right.

Another flush of warmth ripples through him and Tyler wants to vomit. He scurries into the showers and cranks the water as cold as possible. He’s faintly surprised steam doesn’t billow up when the water hits his skin. He feels like he’s running a fever—his joints ache, his skin hurts, and everything is too hot, too hot, too—

“Tyler, hey!” Jamie’s voice makes him jump and shove his face under the spray, hoping it will hide how red he knows he must be. “Jordie’s doing steaks tonight, you in?”

“I, uh—” Tyler’s voice is raspy and he stops to clear his throat. “Think I’m coming down with something. Next time?”

Jamie looks closer at him, eyes narrowing. “Flu?”

“Probably,” Tyler says, and escapes.

He doesn’t leave the rink. Instead he hides in a conference room and waits until the last player has left, then he slips back into the locker room. He doesn’t have much time, he knows—the cleaners will be there soon. So he makes it quick as he goes through each stall in turn, searching for something he can use.

He finds a sock in Ben’s locker and stuffs it in his bag. Rads never cleans unless he’s forced to, so Tyler’s able to steal two socks and a hand towel he used to wipe his face. Klinger is almost obsessively neat, but he left a snapback that smells like him, and Tyler swipes it. He moves around the room methodically, trying not to despair when he encounters locked chests or neatly kept lockers with no trace of their owners within. There’s nothing of Jamie’s in his spot, and Tyler wants to cry. He needs something from Jamie more even than the others, and he  _ needs _ something from each of his teammates—his pack. It burns at the base of his spine, traveling upward until he thinks he might choke on it. He can’t make his nest  _ right _ if he doesn’t have something from every single one of the men he plays with, and his heat won’t subside until he does. 

But drowning out his need for the perfect nest is the fact that no one can know.  _ No one. _ Tyler thinks back to his last heat, in Boston, and nausea rolls in his stomach. He can’t go through that again. 

When he’s rifled every locker he can, he sneaks out of the locker room and takes the long way around to the parking garage. No one’s there, and he’s able to get out without being seen.

Back at his apartment, he pushes his bed into the corner, so he has walls on two sides. He spends the next thirty minutes arranging his purloined items to his satisfaction.

When that’s done, he picks up the bottle of suppressants. The doctor had warned him against taking too many.  _ It’s dangerous, _ she’d said.  _ Keep to the prescribed dose and call me if it stops working. _

Tyler picks up the phone and dials her number, but it goes straight to an after-hours answering service. He hangs up without leaving a message. Then he takes three of the suppressants, swallowing them dry, and crawls into bed.

He’s not sure how, but he manages to fall asleep, although it’s restless and broken. He wakes three times covered in a cold, sick sweat, and he rolls out of bed each time and staggers into the bathroom to rinse off. He knows from experience that he needs to stay as clean as possible now, because later in his heat, he won’t be able to stand, let alone make it into the shower.

When morning dawns, Tyler is curled in a ball under a sheet. He can’t get comfortable—he freezes when nothing’s on him, and is instantly overheated under a blanket. His arms are wrapped around his ribs and he’s dimly aware that he’s shaking, but he can’t stop.  _ Something’s wrong, _ he thinks, and fumbles for his phone, but he’s trembling so badly that he drops it.

It hits the floor with a clatter and Tyler suppresses a moan. Dragging himself up, he leans over the edge of the bed. There—it’s just out of reach. Tyler stretches an arm out but he can’t quite touch it. Pain shivers in his joints as he scoots another inch and reaches again. He doesn’t realize he’s in danger until he’s already falling. 

The impact jars agony all through him and Tyler sobs, curling into the fetal position. He needs to get up, back into his bed, but he can’t make his body cooperate. He passes out on the hard floor, tears on his face.

 

He comes slowly back to consciousness, awareness trickling in by degrees. One side of his face is warmer than the other, and the rest of him—he evaluates, thoughts slow and sluggish. His joints still ache but the pain isn’t as bad as it was.

“Tyler? Tyler, wake up, please, Ty—”

The warmth on his face is a hand, Tyler realizes, and he blinks his eyes open to see Jamie bending over him, one hand cupping Tyler’s cheek and the other holding a phone to his ear.

“He’s awake,” he says into it, relief washing over his face. “Segs, I’m going to get you up. You need to be in bed.”

Tyler pushes Jamie’s hand away weakly. “Go—” Jamie can’t be here. He  _ can’t. _

“I’m not leaving you,” Jamie says flatly. “Is it the flu?”

Tyler shakes his head, allowing Jamie to pull him into a sitting position. 

Jamie puts the phone on the floor and bends, getting Tyler under the arms and lifting him with embarrassing ease. Tyler collapses onto the mattress as Jamie picks up the phone. “He was burning up, but now he’s cool to the touch,” he says.

Tyler drags the sheet over himself and shoves Rads’ hand towel under the pillow where he can smell it. He closes his eyes, listening to Jamie as he talks to whoever’s on the line.

“Wait, really?” Jamie says. “But I can’t smell—” He breaks off and Tyler squeezes his eyes tighter shut. “Tyler, are you in heat?”

Tyler doesn’t answer.

_ “Tyler. _ What did you take?”

“My suppressant,” Tyler rasps. “It f-failed, so I took more—”

“How many more?” Jamie sounds horrified.

“Three,” Tyler whispers.

“Jesus Christ. He took three.” Jamie listens for several minutes and then leaves the room.

Alone, Tyler lies quietly. The worst of the feverish chills seem to have passed, although his joints still hurt. 

Jamie comes back in and crouches beside the bed. “I need you to drink this,” he says, holding out a glass.

Tyler pushes himself to an elbow and obediently drains the contents—orange juice—then hands the glass back. 

“You need to go,” he says again. 

“I’m not letting you go through this alone,” Jamie says, sounding offended at the thought. “You need help, Segs.”

Tyler pulls the sheet up to his chin, avoiding Jamie’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just… need a couple of days.”

“Ty… did you go through heat alone in Boston?” Jamie asks. His voice is very neutral, and Tyler laughs, although it’s harsh and without humor.

“I wish,” he says, and snaps his mouth shut before he says more.

Jamie’s quiet for a long moment. “That was the team doctor on the phone. She says you taking that many suppressants is what fucked you up so badly. It’s why you’re not actually—” He hesitates. “You know.”

“Horny?” Tyler’s too tired to find it funny.

“Yeah. They have to work their way out of your system before your heat can cycle properly.” Jamie hesitates. “Once they do, it’ll probably be… bad. Because you’ve suppressed it for so long.”

Tyler closes his eyes again.  _ Great. _

“I texted Jordie,” Jamie continues. “He’s going to stay with you until I get back.”

Tyler sits straight up in alarm, clutching at Jamie’s arm. “He can’t know, the team can’t know, Jamie, you can’t tell them—”

“Easy,” Jamie soothes. “I know you don’t want them to know, Segs, but they’re going to figure it out. Especially when they realize stuff is missing and so are you.”

Tyler flushes hot with shame. “I’ll give it all back,” he mumbles. “I just—I needed—”

“I know,” Jamie says, rubbing his hand.

The front door opens and Jordie’s heavy footsteps sound.

“Jame?”

“In here,” Jamie calls.

Jordie puts his head inside the room, eyes averted as if he’s not sure what he’s interrupting, and Jamie makes an irritated noise.

“No one’s having sex, for fuck’s sake.”

_ “Yet,” _ Jordie says direly.

Jamie rolls his eyes and stands. “Segs, I’ll be back in less than an hour. Call me if things get worse.”

“I’m making food,” Jordie announces when the door shuts behind Jamie.

“Not hungry.”

“Considering what’s in store, you’d better eat now,” Jordie tells him. “Jamie’s not going to thank me if you pass out in the middle of sex.”

Tyler sputters, clutching at the sheet. “I’m  _ not _ having sex with  _ Jamie!” _

“Who, then?” Jordie asks, eyes sharp. “Gonna hire an alpha?”

The thought makes nausea heave in Tyler’s stomach and he swallows hard to keep it down. “I’ll just—look, I’ve gone through it alone before. I can do it again. It won’t kill me.” Heat prickles his skin and he rubs his arms absently.

“Suppressants are wearing off,” Jordie notes. “You don’t have much time.”

Tyler glares at him. “Thank you.”

Jordie’s eyes soften. “What happened in Boston, Segs? Did they make you go through this alone there every time?”

Tyler hesitates. Jordie is safe. He can be trusted. “Promise me you won’t tell Jamie.”

Jordie doesn’t look happy about that but he nods. “Not without your permission.”

“They said—it was a distraction to the alphas on the team, that I needed to keep it locked down. At f-first…” Tyler shivers, remembering. “They locked me up.”

“Alone?” Jordie’s voice is carefully neutral.

Tyler nods. “It wasn’t all bad. They gave me stuff to make my nest. But—”

“But what?” Jordie sits down on the edge of the bed, listening intently.

“The heats got worse.” Tyler rolls his shoulders, trying to shake the memories. “It’s—look, I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t good, but that’s what I get for being an omega in the NHL. I knew what I was getting into.”

Jordie stands up so fast Tyler flinches. He looks furious, hands clenching by his sides, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he turns and leaves the room.

Tyler waits a few minutes but Jordie doesn’t come back, so he slowly climbs out of the bed and finds a pair of sweatpants. Putting them on takes several minutes, and he’s breathing hard by the time he’s tying the drawstring, but finally he manages to shuffle out into the living room.

“Get back in bed,” Jordie says from the kitchen.

“Not until you tell me why you’re mad,” Tyler says. He sinks onto the arm of the sofa as Jordie rubs his forehead.

“I’m not—okay, I’m mad. But not at you. At whoever told you this was your fault, and took advantage of you, and—”

“Omegas don’t do well in the NHL,” Tyler says carefully. “Everyone knows that. It’s too rough, too aggressive, and we can trigger alphas into rut with their need to protect us. Any omega who joins knows what they’re signing up for.”

Jordie slaps both hands flat on the counter. “Tyler, tell me something. Would Jamie or I ever touch you without your permission? Would we  _ ever _ do anything to you that you didn’t want us to do?”

Tyler shakes his head immediately. “But I’ve never gone into heat before here either,” he can’t help pointing out.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re coming into heat right now. I can smell you from here. Have I touched you at all?”

“I—no.”

“And Jamie—did he try to fuck you?”

Tyler shakes his head again. 

“I realize this is actually news to you, considering where you came from, but alphas can control themselves, even around an omega in heat. Anyone who—” Jordie swallows, throat bobbing. “They used you, Segs. And blamed you for it.”

Tyler says nothing. His throat’s too tight and his eyes are burning. Marshall shoves his cold nose into Tyler’s hand and whines, and Tyler bends to comfort him. 

“Go back to bed,” Jordie says gently. “I’ll bring you food.”

Blindly, Tyler obeys, stumbling into the bedroom and crawling onto the mattress. He takes a few minutes to pull the clothing around him so it’s touching him everywhere, and some of the tension leaches from him even as another wave of heat prickles his skin. He closes his eyes, summoning the training management had given him to be able to fall asleep in the middle of the day before a game, and finally he slips into a light doze.

 

When he wakes, he knows immediately he’s in trouble. His skin feels too hot again, too tight, his body thrumming with need. He’s hard in his sweats, and he can’t help the whimper as he palms himself.

Jordie drops something in the kitchen and swears quietly. Tyler can hear him saying something but he doesn’t try to listen. Instead he rolls over onto his stomach and grinds against the bed, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. It feels good but it’s not enough, nowhere near enough to quiet the cavernous fire in his gut.

Still, it takes less than a minute for him to come untouched, soaking the front of his sweats and stifling the noise with a hand jammed against his mouth. He doesn’t even go soft, the arousal still clawing at him, and he wants to cry at the thought of the next three days.

The front door slams and running footsteps sound. Jamie skids around the corner into the bedroom, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants. His nostrils flare wide, obviously smelling what just happened, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead he drops the bag on the bed and unzips it. He pulls out a pair of shorts and Tyler’s nose tells him they belong to Spezza. Next is a T-shirt that’s soft with age and smells strongly of Val. Jamie keeps going, emptying the bag until there’s a pile next to Tyler’s hip, the commingled scents of his team rising from it.

“There,” he says triumphantly. “Wait, shit. Jordie!”

Jordie puts his head around the corner and Jamie holds out a hand. “Give me your shirt.”

“It’s my favorite,” Jordie complains, but he obediently strips it off and hands it over.

Tyler reaches for the clothes with shaking hands, pulling the pile forward and burying his face in it. The smell of detergent and sweat makes him sneeze twice, startling a laugh from Jamie, and Tyler lifts his head to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” he manages, and sets to work making his nest  _ right. _

Jamie grabs Jordie’s arm and pulls him out of the room. Tyler barely notices them, too busy getting everything arranged just so. It takes him several minutes to realize he’s still missing one.

“Jamie—”

Jamie appears in the doorway, eyes soft with worry. “Everything okay? I got something from everyone.”

“Everyone but, um, you,” Tyler says, unable to meet his gaze.

“Fuck, sorry. Shirt?”

Tyler shakes his head, worrying his lip with his teeth. He’s not sure exactly what he needs, but he knows it’s more than a shirt.

“Okay. Be right back.” Jamie’s gone again before Tyler can protest. 

Alone, Tyler rearranges the bedding some more, until he finally recognizes that he’s fidgeting. He strips off the soiled sweatpants and tosses them on the floor, giving a passing thought to finding more but discarding the idea. He’ll just get them filthy too. 

He’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed when Jordie knocks on the open door, a tray balanced on one hand.

“Room service,” he says. His eyes are averted, but he’s smiling. Tyler smells oatmeal and bacon and his stomach growls. Jordie places the tray across his lap and takes several big steps back. “Eat,” he says, still not looking at him. “Jamie will be back in just a minute.”

Tyler obeys, tearing into the bacon with a tiny noise of happiness. The oatmeal has brown sugar and walnuts in it, warm, sweet, and filling, and Tyler demolishes everything on the tray in minutes as Jordie vanishes into the kitchen again. He’s mopping up the yolk from the eggs with the last crust of toast when he hears the door open and then Jamie talking to Jordie in a low tone.

When Jamie appears, he’s holding a blanket in his arms. Tyler blinks. 

“Oh,  _ yes,” _ he breathes, and nearly drops the tray pushing it aside.

Jamie shakes the blanket out and wraps it around Tyler’s shoulders. It settles over him, heavy and warm and smelling so perfectly of Jamie that Tyler has to swallow hard several times. He tugs it around himself, then presses his face to it and takes a few deep breaths. When he lifts his head, Jamie’s staring down at him, eyes wide and dark.

He shakes himself. “Do you have what you need?”

It would be so easy for Tyler to hold out a hand and say  _ everything but you. _ Every cell in his body is screaming for him to do it, and it takes strength he didn’t know he had to summon a smile and nod. 

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. 

Jamie opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something else, but finally he just nods. “I’ll be in the living room. Jordie took Marshall. Call me if you need anything.”

It’s not disappointment on his face, Tyler tells himself as Jamie leaves the room. He pulls the blanket up over his head, so he’s trapped inside a warm, dark cocoon that smells deliciously of Jamie, the commingled scents of the team twined through his nerves. It’s almost perfect. So close. 

The arousal, briefly abated by his meal, makes itself known again and Tyler rolls to the side, floundering out of the blanket to pull his box of toys from under the bed. Artificial knots are awful and he hates them but he doesn’t really have a choice. His body demands a knot, and it won’t be satisfied until it gets it.

He’s shaking again as he fumbles the box open and pulls the toy out. He’s not ready for it yet, but he will be soon. He can already feel his body preparing, his entrance getting slick and wet and his cock throbbing painfully.

For now, a smaller dildo will suffice. Tyler doesn’t bother with prep—he doesn’t need it when he’s like this. He just slides it home, biting his lip against the moan. It feels good, although nowhere near enough.

He comes twice like that, on his back with the toy buried deep inside him. Panting and sweat-slick after the second one, Tyler drapes an arm over his eyes. He wants to scream at the thought of the next three days, of chasing an orgasmic high that will never truly satisfy him.

_ I can’t do it, _ he thinks fuzzily. His cock is already hardening again, his body desperate for what it doesn’t have.

Time passes achingly slowly. He’s averaging about two orgasms per hour, unable to find true release without a real knot. The artificial one is deep inside him but even so it’s barely taking the edge off.

Tyler passes out briefly around noon, worn through and exhausted. 

He wakes to Jamie leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulder.

“Segs, Seggy, please wake up. Come on, you need to drink something.” He’s holding a cup, and Tyler moans. He doesn’t have the energy to sit up, let alone hold something.

Jamie seems to realize this. He pulls Tyler to a sitting position and holds the cup to his mouth. Tyler struggles to swallow without spilling, letting the cool, sweet water wash down his throat.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Jamie says. He sounds miserable, and Tyler wants instinctively to comfort him, reassure him that none of this is his fault. He can’t remember how to form words, and he must blackout briefly because when he can focus again, Jamie’s still speaking. “—me help you, Ty,  _ please.” _

Tyler forces his eyes open. Jamie is kneeling beside the bed, one hand on Tyler’s arm, eyes dark and pleading. Tyler struggles through the cotton wool in his brain to figure out what Jamie just said.

_ He wants to help me through the heat, _ he realizes, stomach flip-flopping.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jamie continues.

Tyler can’t summon the words to tell him why it’s a bad idea. He can’t even  _ remember _ why it’s a bad idea. 

“It won’t change anything between us. I promise,” Jamie says, and that makes Tyler’s stomach twist because he  _ wants  _ it to, he wants so much more than Jamie is offering. But Jamie doesn’t feel that way. He’s helping because Tyler’s his best friend, because Tyler needs him. Not because he wants more than they have.

But right now, it’s all he can do to nod. 

Relief floods Jamie’s face and he rocks fluidly to his feet. He strips in quick, efficient motions and climbs onto the bed to kneel between Tyler’s thighs.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you,” he murmurs, stroking his leg.

Tyler reaches for him with shaky hands and Jamie folds himself down into a kiss willingly. He’s warm and heavy on top of him, and Tyler lets out a sob of gratitude as Jamie kisses him deep and slow, their lengths trapped between them.

Despite the urgency thrumming in his bones, Tyler doesn’t try to hurry things up. If this is the only time he’ll have this, he wants to make it last, wants to savor every last sensation. Jamie smells even better like this, his scent filling Tyler’s nose as he rocks slowly against him. He tilts Tyler’s head to the side with a hand in his curls and licks wet and messy over the curve where his shoulder and neck meet, the spot where a claiming bite would go.

Tyler comes like that, Jamie’s mouth fastened to his throat as he spills helplessly between them. When he can focus again, Jamie’s kissing his way down Tyler’s chest. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “Doing okay?”

Tyler makes an assenting noise. He wants to touch, but he can barely move. Jamie seems to realize this. He gives him a wicked grin and sits back on his knees, trailing fingers through the mess on Tyler’s stomach and then down. He seems to realize how oversensitive Tyler is, because he avoids his cock, instead dipping below his balls and nudging the artificial knot, still lodged deep inside Tyler’s body.

“Can I take it out?” he asks.

Tyler nods. His back arches and he scrabbles helplessly against the sheets as Jamie pulls the knot out, leaving him empty and aching.

“Fuck,” Jamie says, sounding choked with something like awe. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Tyler finally finds his voice.  _ “Yes,” _ he rasps. “Knot me, Jamie,  _ please—” _

“Roll over,” Jamie says, and Tyler immediately obeys, settling on his stomach. Jamie pushes one of his thighs up, stroking over the curve of his ass with gentle hands. “You smell so good,” he murmurs. 

He slips inside and Tyler makes a strangled noise as Jamie settles his weight across his hips, one hand bracing himself on the mattress by Tyler’s shoulder.

It feels—Tyler can’t put words to the sensation. Good.  _ Right. _ Jamie is heavy and solid on top of him, hard and thick inside him. He rocks back against him and is rewarded with a choked gasp.

Jamie shifts and pulls out slowly, then pushes back in just as slow. The drag and slide of his cock makes tears spring to Tyler’s eyes, and he reaches up and grips the headboard.

“Do it,” he says over his shoulder. “Come on, Jamie, fuck me.”

Jamie growls and goes for it, hammering home in sharp, forceful thrusts that drive Tyler up the bed and make fireworks go off behind his eyes. He’s already hard again, the friction of the sheets against his cock a perfect counterpoint to Jamie’s shaft driving deep over and over.

He’s not going to last, he knows that, but it doesn’t matter, because Jamie’s stiffening above him, forehead pressed to Tyler’s shoulder blade as he comes. Tyler can feel his knot swelling inside him, huge and perfect, filling Tyler and pressing against his prostate until Tyler loses his grip and falls over the edge, coming in shaky pulses on the mattress.

They collapse back to the bed together in a sweaty heap, Jamie locked deep inside him. Tyler can feel the soft kisses Jamie’s laying on his shoulder, but he’s not inclined to move, even if he could. Jamie’s the anchor keeping him from floating away, and Tyler wants to cherish this moment forever. 

_ I wish it was real. _

Jamie’s arm tightens around him. “It is,” he whispers. “Has been for a while.”

Tyler twists his head to look at him. Jamie smiles at him, hope and fear warring in his expression.

“If—” Jamie swallows hard. “We can just go back to friends, if that’s what you want. I promise, Ty, this doesn’t have to mean—”

Tyler shakes his head, unable to help his smile. Relief washes across Jamie’s face.

There’s a lot more to talk about, Tyler knows. Nothing is truly settled yet. But it can wait. Jamie pulls the blanket up over both of them and Tyler falls asleep with Jamie’s breath warm on the nape of his neck, arm heavy around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can [find me on the Tumbls having way too many feelings over dumb boys on knife shoes.](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)


End file.
